The Other Half
by convenientdistraction
Summary: AU for Diane/Kurt. Diane inherits half of her aunt's farm, and she finds herself in an unlikely marriage. Set after 5x05 if Diane has lost the nomination and been voted out of the firm.


How poetic it felt to be attending a funeral the day after the end of everything. They closed the coffin on the last hymn, and she could almost feel the lid on her career slamming shut. Jarring organ music or not, the same finality accompanied her loss. How does one give a eulogy for thirty plus years of lawyering? As everyone processed out of the church, she tallied off who might attend and who wouldn't. And of course who would be there to prey on her homeless clients. The mentees turned vultures she had left behind in her tailspin.

_Here lies Diane Lockhart. She leave_s _behind 38 million in billing_.

While the officiant had preached that there was hope for her aunt, she knew that there was no resurrection after a failed Supreme Court bid. After being outvoted at work by the very people she had spent more time with than her own family. She'd watched colleagues and friends get shut out in turnovers and takeovers over the years. She had taken them out for the obligatory cocktail and sympathetic nodding, but she had never bothered to imagine how it felt.

Now she didn't have to wonder. It felt like hell.

Very few people stayed after the ceremony for the burial. Her father's sister had never married. No kids. A woman introduced herself as the editor of the newspaper. Perhaps the only news of the week in the sleepy farmtown. She was two hundred miles from Chicago but it felt like two hundred light years. Another young man, a little too tall for his suit, introduced himself as her aunt's attorney. Ten minutes later she was following him in her car to his office where he would read the will.

Normally she would have just handed him her card and headed straight for highway. But she had been locked out of her Lockhart Gardner email account for forty-eight hours. Well forty-six hours, if you were counting like she was. Her work phone felt like a dead animal that had burrowed itself in her purse. The truth was there was nowhere she needed to be. Absolutely nowhere. Even the dog was fine.

So she trailed behind him, heels crunching up the gravel walkway to the house that he had converted into his office. Her father had started out in a place like this. She had always romanticized his stories of defending cow thieves and the town drunk. The young lawyer sorted through the mountain of clutter on his desk. There was no telling what her aunt had left her. Perhaps that golden leopard statue that had always sent her mother's eyes rolling when they visited. Hopefully whatever it was would fit in the trunk of her car or the closest dumpster.

Her mind rewound to the image of the movers carrying out her office furniture two days ago. It had been so tacky not to wait until she had left, but David Lee had been gunning for her office. Her office. That was gone too. Leaving her with what? One spoiled dog. A spacious apartment, now filled with 15 boxes of displaced legal books. And-

"Joint tenancy of my house and property with right of survivorship."

She snapped out of her thoughts, blinking at the young attorney. "I'm sorry, what?"

He stopped, and started reading it again. ""And to my niece, Diane, I award joint tenancy—you see joint tenancy means-"

"I know what that means I'm a-." _Was a lawyer_. She took off her glasses as the exhaustion of the week thumped at her skull. "You're telling me a woman I haven't seen in fifteen years just gave me a farm?"

"Well half of it. And half of her house."

"And what exactly am I supposed to do with half of a farm?"

He looked surprised by her request for advice. "Well, you could buy out the other owner. Or sell it to him. Or you could both sell—

"Who are we talking about here?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The joint tenant."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I assumed you knew Mr. McVeigh."

"Who?"

"Kurt McVeigh. His cabin is on the farm. He's worked for your aunt taking care of the property for the past few years."

"You're telling me my aunt left half of her possessions to a man named _McVeigh_ who lives in a _cabin_." She laughed, but his face was blank.

"The Oklahoma City bombing? In '95?"

"Oh yeah. Sorry I was in the eighth grade."

She frowned. Maybe this entire week was just a nightmare.

"I can assure you that Mr. McVeigh is a nice guy. Just kind of quiet. And not a fan of the government."

"Dear god," she exhaled.

"I can arrange a meeting if that helps."

"I'll call you," she said standing up. She had every attention of hiring someone to sort out this mess over the phone. Once the firm stopped dragging her payout she would just send this McVeigh a giant check. Her glance landed on the window. The sun had set, and a three-hour drive felt like an eternity.

"Is there a hotel nearby?"

"Sure. About an hour north."

She sighed as he opened a drawer in his desk, fishing through a small box until he found a small key.

"But why stay at a hotel when you have a house? You should stay there tonight."

"Isn't that morbid?"

"No. It's yours now."

"Half mine, Mr. -" In her rush to get home she hadn't even bothered to remember the man's name.

"Polmar. Finn Polmar."

Diane took his card and tossed it in her purse as she walked to her car. She smiled a little thinking about how Chicago would eat a young man like him alive, then felt a tug at her heart. Will had been about his age when they first met, and they had become fast friends. So much for friendship.

Soon her car crept down dirt road leading to the cabin on the edge of her aunt's property. She and her younger brother had played in the little house as kids, but she didn't recall anyone ever living in it in her lifetime. A light was on inside and there were two trucks parked in the back.

She blindly made her way up the few steps to the unlit porch. She thought twice before knocking lightly. She had already been murdered once this week, so it seemed unlikely for it to happen again. When no one answered, she pounded her fist on the door a few times, and took a deep breath.

She started to knock a third time when the door flew open. The cabin's resident wasn't the scowling, gangly twenty-something farmhand she had expected. Well the beer was in his hand. She had guessed that much correctly. But this man was at least fifty it not older.

"Mr. McVeigh?"

He gave her a long look.

"Yeah?"

"I'm Diane Lockhart. Margaret Lockhart's niece."

"Okay." He hadn't bothered to button his flannel shirt to hide whatever had stained his white T-shirt.

"She died?" She emphasized her words like he couldn't speak English.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Yes, she did."

Clearly she wasn't going to get any sympathy or an invitation to come in. "My aunt's attorney Finn Polmar informed me this afternoon that she awarded us joint tenancy in the farm."

"Yep."

"Mr. Polmar can schedule us a meeting, but I'd really prefer to settle this right now. I can schedule an appraisal for this week and put an offer for your half."

He grimaced, causing a piece of his gray hair to flop out of place. "I don't like lawyers."

"I'm a lawyer."

"Okay," he nodded, like that was the most obvious thing in the world. She felt him staring again and she grew even more impatient.

"Mr. McVeigh, I'm sure you've been of great service to my aunt, and I appreciate that. But surely you have no more interest in being married to the same property than I do."

"Well-"

"My family has owned this farm for several generations. My father grew up here and if we have to take this to court you will lose."

As soon as he opened his mouth to try again, a female voice called out from somewhere in the back of the cabin. "Kurt? Who is it?"

"Look, Mrs.—"

"Lockhart."

"Yeah. It's late. Peggy isn't even cold in the ground. I'll call you."

"But you don't even have my—" her sentence was snapped short as the door closed in her face.

Diane envisioned a giant bulldozer rolling over the tiny cabin as she slammed the door of her car and started the engine. Or maybe federal agents swarming the place after a strategically placed call. She ignored her phone as it lit up in the seat beside her as she drove across the property towards the farmhouse. It was probably another client needing handholding as they decided whether to stay with Lockhart and Gardner. Gardner and…whatever.

The screen door slammed behind her as she flicked on the lights. The house was neater than she expected it to be. All the hideous décor was still waiting for her, but it had been dusted, and someone had swept the floors. She stepped out of her shoes and dropped her purse, still buzzing from calls, before climbing the stairs. She took one look into her aunt's room. She had no intention of sleeping where a woman had died. So she veered left into the guest room, setting her small suitcase on the edge of the bed before collapsing on top of the quilt.

"This is all mine now," she announced to the empty room. "Well, half of it."


End file.
